gazing across the evolutionary chasm
is not so different from gazing across
the dinner table, i think, as i gaze
at the eyelids of the man in my bed.
i discuss with my friend: men are strange aliens.
she hasn’t realised: she is an alien too.
the black box theory of men and all things:
i do not know why they react as they do,
but if i give certain inputs,
they give certain outputs.
what good is a turing test?
i cannot guarantee a single consciousness.
go ahead and be a computer, an alien, an octopus,
it’s all the same to me.
